


spinning on that dizzy edge

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Happy Ending, M/M, Medically inaccurate, Not quite Enemies to Lovers but more like Foes to Friends, apparitions - Freeform, mentions of alcholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: “What are you doing?”Shane nearly jumps out of his skin. He falls right off the couch and slides onto the floor, his blanket getting tangled up around his ankles as he does so. There’s a man standing in his living room, mere feet away, and he doesn’t look very happy.“What— what areyoudoing?” Shane splutters, because that’s a totally normal way to react to a stranger in your living room.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 33
Kudos: 187
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Hallowe'en Fic Exchange 2020





	spinning on that dizzy edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uneventfulhouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/gifts).



> Yesi! Thank you for your wonderful prompts, and for your friendship. I hope you enjoy this AU loosely based off the movie 'Just Like Heaven' (and titled after the same song, by The Cure and Covered by Katie Melua).
> 
> _Spinning on that dizzy edge  
>  I kissed his face and I kissed his head  
> And dreamed of all the different ways  
> I had to make him glow_  
> 

Sara and Kate get engaged, and Shane’s life changes exponentially, in a way he never expected.

Being the thirty-something-year-old-guy who lives with his engaged-couple-friends is not really someone Shane wants to be, so he starts looking for a place of his own sharpish. As much as Sara assures him he’s not in the way, he still feels as though he’s cramping their style. Plus, it’s been a while since he’s lived alone.

It’s almost too good to be true when he finds a place without really needing to look - the listing kind of just falls into his lap. Big windows, Wooden floors, the comfiest couch he's ever sat in. Affordable too, surprisingly. The only catch is the month-to-month lease, meaning he’s never guaranteed more than four weeks at a time, which — while unconventional — is fine for him. He doesn't need to get comfortable. 

Los Angeles has never made Shane _happy_. His brother is here, and that's a plus for sure, but his friend group is small, and the dating scene moves too fast for him. Sure, Shane is a modern kind of guy, likes to go into things with an open mind, but he's Midwestern to the core. There are traditional parts of him, quiet and closed off parts of him that he finds hard to open up even to the most agreeable, most empathetic of people. 

Living here is hard, but Shane can hardly say no to a challenge.

Sara tries setting him up with a friend-of-a-friend, but Shane bails on the poor guy last minute and sulks about it for three days. He’s never stood anyone up before and he hates himself for it, just a little bit.

On the plus side, living alone is kind of nice. Shane can spend the whole day on the couch if he feels like it. He can let the dishes pile up without feeling guilty. He’s usually a pretty tidy guy, but everyone is allowed to be lazy and lax now-and-again; he can do whatever he wants without judgment, he has this whole apartment to himself. He’s alone!

Except for the fact that he’s not.

.

“What are you doing?”

Shane nearly jumps out of his skin. He falls right off the couch and slides onto the floor, his blanket getting tangled up around his ankles as he does so. There’s a man standing in his living room, mere feet away, and he doesn’t look very happy.

“What— what are _you_ doing?” Shane splutters, because that’s a totally normal way to react to a stranger in your living room.

“No way pal, I asked first,” The guy shakes his head, arms folded over his chest. Despite the small-ish stature, the arms are pretty threatening in size. Shane gulps.

“This— this is my apartment,” he says, exasperated, “You need to leave.”

“This is _my_ apartment,” The guy argues, “Look, you’re getting— you got Fritos all over my couch dude.”

“ _Your_ couch,” Shane continues to splutter, and kicks away his blanket, scrambling to his feet, “It was here when I moved in.”

“Yeah, because I _live_ here!” The guy yells, and throws his arms wide, “This is all my _stuff_.”

Shane looks around him. The apartment had come fully furnished in the agreement; there was a comfortable and well-loved living room set, a slightly creaky bed, a barely-touched dining table. There were plates and cutlery and appliances provided, and it had been exactly what Shane had needed. No fuss, just moving his clothes and personal belongings from one building to another.

“I don’t know what to tell—” Shane turns back, but the guy is gone, “—you.”

There’s no one there.

“What the fuck,” Shane says aloud, and looks around confusedly. “Hello?”

The kitchen is empty, so are the two bedrooms, and the bathroom. Shane rips back the shower curtain to be sure, but even so, he doesn’t think this guy could have disappeared in the blink of an eye like that, without so much as a sound. Especially not when he’d been so very _loud_ just moments earlier.

Back in the living room, Shane eyes the dwindling bottle of bourbon on his coffee table. His glass still has liquor in it, but it’s not his first of the night.

A hallucination, right? It’s— maybe he drifted off. Maybe he sleepwalked after one drink too many. He feels… wobbly.

“Alright Shaney,” he says softly to himself, rubs a hand over his face to get the blood moving again. He feels cold from head to toe. “Gotta go easy on the juice from now on.”

But the thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s not even really drunk.

.

Sara winces when she sees him at their fortnightly brunch date. She’s glowing, with that newly-engaged-deep-in-a-loving-relationship glow, so of _course_ Shane looks like shit next to her.

“You been sleeping okay, Shane?” she asks, when they’ve ordered and they’re waiting for their food. “You’ve been quiet lately, even in group texts and stuff.”

Shane has _not_ been sleeping okay.

He keeps seeing glimpses of the guy around the apartment, perusing Shane’s movie collection with distaste, looking out at the city view in the morning, lounging in an armchair while Shane browses Netflix. Always from the corner of his eye. Sometimes he hears humming, singing coming from the bathroom or the kitchen or the bedroom. Nothing as solid and real as that first time, but a flash of a white smile or tan skin. A grumpy mumble in Shane’s direction.

“I’ve uh,” Shane sighs as their mimosas arrive. The glass looks tiny and delicate next to his hand, and he feels a little silly sipping from it. “I’ve been seeing someone.” He admits.

“Shane, that’s great,” Sara enthuses, but doesn’t get much farther than that because Shane lifts his hand to stop her, shaking his head.

“No, no, do _not_ get excited, this is going to sound crazy.”

Sara winces, “Are they way older? Are they way _younger_?”

“I— no,” Shane chokes, “I’m. God this is nuts. I’m _seeing_ someone. In my apartment.”

Sara looks puzzled, and a little uneasy.

“I thought you lived alone. You haven’t shut up about how nice it is to have the whole place to yourself.”

“Yeah, I live alone, Sara. That’s the problem. But I keep seeing someone _in my apartment_.”

Sara puts her head in her hands.

“Do you have a lot of mirrors?” she asks, and Shane snorts.

“No, actually,” he grumps, and then watches her drink all of her mimosa in one long gulp.

“You been drinking more?” she asks him, voice craggy as she swallows.

“Wh— a little bit. But it’s not a problem, I just like to have a drink. Sometimes I smoke.”

Sara rubs her temples.

“I am an _art_ therapist,” she says, as though reminding both Shane and herself. “Not a psychologist. Technically.”

“Forget I said anything,” Shane mumbles, and pushes his drink away from him; there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow. Sara looks at him with big, concerned eyes behind her golden frames. 

“Have you picked up any new projects?” She asks him, gently, “Maybe you need something new to focus on. I know you said you wanted a break after your last one but… it’s been a few months.”

Shane nods his head. His job as a designer is somewhat sprawling; his last job had been several months of character design and production for a children’s puppet show on one of the big networks. The pay was enough to keep him going for a little while longer. He wasn’t exactly worried about work just yet, but maybe Sara was right. 

“I probably need something to direct my attention towards,” he admits.

“I’ll put some feelers out if you want,” Sara shrugs, “But I know you’re well connected and probably don’t need little ol’ me to help you out.”

Shane shrugs, “It’s always good to have you looking out for me,” he says.

.

By the end of the week, Shane is fully convinced that he’s losing his marbles. It’s the only logical conclusion as to why he’s having conversations with a man who doesn’t exist.

“You’re still here?” the guy asks, when he shows up in Shane’s bedroom that night (although ‘shows up’ might be too loose of a term, but Shane doesn’t like the implications of saying ‘appears’).

Shane, exhausted both mentally and physically, sighs into his pillow. 

“I rent this place.”

Realistically, any normal human man would be more perturbed by the presence of another grown-ass man in his apartment, but Shane is 6'4" and strange-looking, so he's really not all that concerned. Maybe he should be. 

" _I_ rent this place," the guy says, closer to where Shane is lying, frustration in the tone of his voice. "This is all my stuff, those are my dishes in the cabinet. That's a photo of me beside your- hey, where's my picture?"

Shane lifts his head, finds the guy next to his bed, staring down at the nightstand.

"What picture?" he asks, instead of telling the dude to get out of his apartment.

"I had a picture right here by my bed. What the fuck."

Shane pushes himself into a sitting position, blinking tiredly. "It was bare when I moved in,'' he offers, shrugging, and intruder-dude looks puzzled.

"I need to call my mom," he says, patting down his pockets, and Shane snorts softly. Then he realizes he can't remember the last time he spoke to his own mother. She certainly wouldn't approve. 

"You need a phone?" he asks, when the guy's pockets come up empty. Shane isn't entirely sure why he's offering this guy anything at all, but something just feels off, there's something not entirely right.

"I- yeah," he guy says, and sounds a little embarrassed as Shane reaches for his phone from his back pocket, and hands it over to the guy, who reaches for it and-

Passes right through it.

"What-" Shane says, at the same time as the guy says "Holy fuck," and scrambles backward. He falls right through Shane's bedroom wall.

"Uh," Shane climbs up off his bed, glances around wildly. There's no sign of the guy, no bright smile or tan skin or jet black hair, not that Shane _noticed_ any of those things about his benign intruder. The bedroom door is still closed, and when Shane peers out into the hallway, there's no one in sight. His cat sits at the end of the hallway, wide-eyed and still but for a swishing tail.

Shane looks down at the phone in his hand, his fingers still curled around it, solid and real. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds Katie, his real estate agent (and dear friend), and dials her number. It rings for a long time, but Shane holds on, and doesn't even notice the time until Katie answers, a yawn in her voice.

"It me," she answers. "What do you want?"

"Katie, it's Shane. I'm sorry it's late."

"Oh it's fine," she sighs, "I have to be in the office in six hours anyway."

Shane ignores her tone of voice and the fact that she's clearly humoring him, barrels on anyway.

"Do you know anything about the previous owner of this apartment?" He knows it's a long shot, there is any amount of people who could have rented this place before him, but it can't hurt to ask.

"Oh," Katie says, a little hoarse because she's obviously very tired (and very, _very_ patient). "Actually yeah. It's kind of sad though, are you sure you want to know?"

Shane grimaces. "It's not gruesome, is it?"

"Eh," Katie sounds like she's shrugging, "It's-- I guess? As far as I know, the guy who lived there was in an accident, and now his family rents out his place."

"He's dead?" Shane asks, stomach gripped tightly. 

"I didn't ask much," Katie admits, "Didn't want to pry. They wanted me to manage the property, and I knew you needed a place with little commitment. It seemed perfect.

"Yeah," Shane sighs. "Thanks Katie. I'm sorry again that I called you so late?"

"That's okay," Katie says, gently, "I was actually just getting ready for bed, you didn't disturb me."

" _Why_ are you still awake?" Shane grumbles, "Why are you still up at- oh fuck, god, it's so late Katie I'm sorry."

"Why are _you_ awake, Shane?" Katie fires back, good-naturedly. He’s lucky to have her put up with him. "Something on your mind? Some _one_?" 

“Maybe,” he sighs. “I’ll let you go to bed.”

“Take care of yourself,” Katie says, a touch of concern in her voice, and Shane mumbles a goodbye as he ends the call.

.

“Well you’re obviously not a ghost,” Shane says, to nobody in particular, in his empty apartment. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Debatable,” The guy says, and Shane isn’t even surprised when he wheels around and finds him standing there in his usual defensive position, arms folded across his chest. It’d be threatening if Shane wasn’t maybe a foot taller than a guy (he might be exaggerating, he’s never been good at guessing height). “Ghosts definitely exist, but the problem is that I’m not dead.”

“Oh no?” Shane asks, and spreads his arms wide. He really shouldn’t argue like this with a projection of his own subconscious. “Where do you go when you’re not here? What’s your name? Where do you live?”

“I live here,” the guys says, with reproach, “I- My name is Ryan. And when I’m not here I’m-- I’m.”

Shane waits for an answer but the guy - Ryan, apparently - can’t seem to come up with anything.

“Okay, ‘Ryan’,” Shane sighs, “There’s a simple explanation for this. Clearly I am losing my mind. Clearly I’m traumatised, and sleep deprived, and yeah maybe I drink a little too much but nobody is perfect.”

“Stop trying to tell me I’m not real,” Ryan argues. “I’m real. I exist.”

“You’re a figment of my imagination-”

“No!” Ryan’s visibly upset in a way Shane hasn’t seen before, different from his usual vague annoyance over the general situation. “You’re a real dick, you know that?”

Shane shrugs. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

Ryan looks incandescently angry for a split second, right before his eyes widen in realization.

“Where’s your spare key, buddy?” he asks, and Shane goes blank for a moment.

“I don’t have one. I didn’t get one, I’ve been meaning to make one.”

“Well that’s dumb,” Ryan says, gleeful. “What if you get locked out?”

“I dunno,” Shane shrugs, “Call the building manager I guess, I- I was going to get a spare key cut.”

“I keep one in the hall,” Ryan says, and takes a step away from Shane, towards the front door. Shane watches as he turns on heel and disappears right through the solid wooden door into the corridor.

“Fuck,” Shane mumbles and stumbles towards the door. He unlocks the deadbolt and wrenches open his door, half expecting to find an empty hall and that Ryan would be gone again. Instead, Ryan is standing on the linoleum next to the floor’s fire extinguisher.

“It’s right here,” Ryan says, and gestures to the extinguisher. “You’ll need to pick it up for me.”

Shane freezes.

If the key is there, Ryan is real. If it’s not, he’s all in Shane’s head. He doesn’t know which is preferable. Either way, Shane feels like he’s losing it.

“Dude, come on,” Ryan says, urging him, and Shane finally finds the momentum to move his feet again. He steps up next to Ryan and feels nothing. No heat, no breath, no presence but the hairs on his arms standing on end.

He moves the extinguisher, and a small silver key glimmers up at him. 

Ryan smiles at him, just as shiny and bright.

.

That night, Shane makes himself a cup of tea before bed, instead of his usual beer or two. He notices a mug, tucked away in the back of the cabinet, one he hasn’t seen before (though he really does enjoy the ‘My Disney Princess Name is Taco Belle’ mug).

The apartment came pre-furnished, cutlery and dishware included, so Shane hadn’t looked too closely at his houseware before now. But something about this mug makes him pause, and push aside all his other cups to get to it, at the very back.

It looks grey in the cabinet, but when he pulls it out into the light it’s a very soft and pale blue, and as Shane turns it over in his hands he sees the letters ‘RB’ printed on the side in a bold font.

_Ryan,_ he thinks. _Ryan who?_

.

To put his own mind at ease, Shane goes door-knocking.

He starts with the two small apartments on the bottom floor, and ends up chatting to the elderly lady in apartment 2 for longer than he means to - but she just has so many cats and Shane really can’t resist.

The middle floor starts off disappointing, a middle-aged couple who look as though they’re in the process of moving out; they don’t have much time to talk to him, and they never met the guy who lived on the top floor.

The second apartment on the middle floor changes the game.

A young woman answers, peering out at Shane warily from behind the door chain.

“Hi,” Shane says, “Sorry to bother you, I live upstairs.”

“Oh,” She says, brow furrowing thoughtfully for a moment. “Madej?” She asks.

Shane smiles, vaguely remembers her walking past as he changed the name on the downstairs buzzer, the look of confusion on her face. Now, he kind of wishes he’d paid attention to what the old name was before he’d changed it.

(It starts with B, he assumes, from the mug.)

“Shane,” he introduces himself. “I’ve just kind of been bothering everyone in the building this morning, introducing myself and being nosy…”

Shane trails off as she closes the door in his face—

“Uh...”

—And then promptly opens it again having slid the chain from the lock. She extends her hand to him.

“Sorry to be rude. I’m Marielle.”

Shane takes her hand. It’s dainty and small, like the mimosa glasses. He feels a little silly.

“I know her,” Ryan says, just over Shane’s shoulder, and he almost jumps out of his skin in surprise, startling his neighbor in the process.

“Sorry!” Shane apologizes immediately, feeling his cheeks get hot, “I—”

“Weird cold breeze,” Marielle agrees, wriggles her shoulders as if shaking off a strange sensation.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, frozen in his tracks.

“Did she feel that? Did she feel me?” Ryan hisses. Shane ignores him stubbornly, scratches the back of his neck.

“Um, anyway, this might be a weird question but do you know anything about the guy who lived up there before me?”

“Oh,” Marielle looks up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yeah, I mean, not a lot. We’d bump into each other in the hallway sometimes, chat for a bit. He was really cute. I was really surprised when you moved in because I hadn’t even noticed him moving out.”

That explains the dirty look she’d given him, the day Shane had moved in.

“Never learned his name?” Shane asks, frowning slightly.

“Oh, yeah,” Marielle nods, “Ryan. We didn’t talk much though. He seemed nice.”

“Okay,” Shane sighs, heart sinking. Ryan can’t be just a coincidence anymore. It’s too much.

“Do you need to contact him or something?” Marielle asks, leaning into her doorframe. “I don’t have any of his details, I’m sorry. Maybe the landlord does?”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, “I was just curious is all. Nosy. The place was pre-furnished when I moved in, just wanted to find out more about the guy.”

“Strange,” Marielle says quietly.

“Weird vibes up there,” Shane shrugs, and points up towards the ceiling, towards his apartment. Next to him, Ryan scowls and folds his arms.

“She doesn’t know me,” he says, and almost sounds disappointed about it. “Can we move on?”

“Maybe it’s haunted,” Marielle says, in a slightly lighter tone, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Maybe that’s why he left.”

Shane snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think I believe in ghosts,” he says, and doesn’t think too hard about the one standing right next to him.

.

At a more respectable time of the day, Shane calls Katie again, needles her until he gets the name of the woman subletting his apartment to him. It’s not exactly confidential information, but she prides herself on her professionalism and gives him the name _Linda Bergara_ with the promise of his utmost discretion. Shane feels a strange mix of dread and elation when he realizes he’s found his B-surname.

He googles Ryan Bergara, as any good detective would, and sits chewing nervously at his nails while he browses the results. The first link is a Facebook page, and Shane’s stomach sinks as he sees the profile picture. A man with dark hair and a wide grin, tan skin, light in his smiling eyes. 

The profile is private, so he can’t get a feel for when it was last active, and he’s not stupid enough to try to add the guy as a friend.

“You don’t wanna be my friend?” Ryan asks, and Shane ignores him, as he’s taken to doing recently. After the Facebook link, there’s a local news story, and if Shane’s stomach wasn’t already somewhere in the region of his ankles, it would have hit the floor with how fast it twists and sinks.

_Local Man (29) In Critical Condition After Collision._

He skims the article with a lump in his throat. There’s a picture of Ryan in the article, a mention of where the accident occurred - a few streets over, an intersection Shane has walked past multiple times. The article is dated a couple of months back, and there are no updates.

“So I’m dead,” Ryan says quietly, defeated, and this time Shane doesn’t ignore him.

“I don’t know,” he says, when he really means _I hope not_.

Ryan gets quiet after that.

He still shows up around the apartment, more often than before now, and Shane wonders if he’s afraid of disappearing, or unexisting. Maybe they share the same fear, of never seeing one another again. Shane has come so close to solving this mystery, he doesn’t want it to end just yet, even if that’s selfish of him.

He’s become strangely fond of Ryan in a way he can’t explain. It’s somewhat comforting to see him now, even just from the corner of his eye in the kitchen as Shane is making dinner.

He drinks less, he draws more, and he calls local hospitals and asks about Ryan Bergara. There’s not a lot of information he can be given, legally.

It’s late on a Wednesday night when he pours himself a glass of wine and sits on his couch - Ryan’s couch - in his uncomfortably quiet apartment. It’s really a last-ditch desperate attempt, but he calls back one of the hospitals from earlier in the week, one that had given him a cagier vibe than the others. Less willing to outright say ‘no’ but still unyielding of their information.

When his call is answered, Shane awkwardly bumbles his way through a “Hi, hello, I’m just wondering if it’s possible that you could tell me… Is there a patient there named Ryan Bergara by any chance?”

Not the most eloquent he’s ever been, but he’s tired.

The woman on the other end of the line sighs, but she sounds genuinely apologetic.

“Sir, unless you are a family member or personally attached to the patient, I can’t release any information.”

“I know,” Shane sighs, he’d heard as much when he’d called earlier in the week, and from every other medical institution that he’d called. “I’m sorry for calling again.”

The woman is quiet for a moment.

“How do you know Ryan?” she asks, and Shane’s chest gets tight all of a sudden. He’s never gotten quite this far before, nothing more than a brusque apology.

“Uh,” he sighs, scratching his nose. He’d had a story planned already, something about a newspaper article, but it seems weak now. There’s no real personal connection. “We um. We dated for a while and he, uh, ghosted me,” he says, hand to his forehead in frustration. The woman on the phone makes a surprised little noise. “I only recently found out he’d been in an accident. It’s just been weighing on my mind,” he fumbles, and his stomach twists guiltily at the fabricated story.

“Oh,” the woman says, quietly. “Didn’t know he was seeing someone.”

“You know Ryan?” Shane asks, his heart beating wildly now. He’s so close to a breakthrough, he can feel it.

“I could get in trouble for this,” she says, softly. “I— I mean I guess you should know?”

“Please,” Shane exhales, and doesn’t inhale again until the woman speaks.

“Ryan volunteered here part-time, in Pediatrics. His brother is on our staff so everyone knew him pretty well. He was in an accident a couple of months ago and um… He’s been in a coma ever since.”

Shane forgets to breathe in.

“I’m really sorry,” the woman says, “He’s— he just hasn’t been responsive. His family is holding out, but when someone has been in a coma for this long it’s difficult to tell how things will end up.”

“Okay. That’s— thank you for telling me,” Shane says, eventually. “Thank you, uh—”

“Kelsey,” she says, “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Didn’t hear what,” Shane says, flatly, frowning into the bottom of his wine glass.

.

Shane doesn’t sleep very much that night. He lays awake on his bed, counting his breath, trying to slow his pounding heartbeat. It’s morning when Ryan next appears, as Shane’s sleepily stirring a cup of coffee over the kitchen counter.

“You look like hell,” Ryan says.

“You’re not dead,” Shane replies, which is definitely not what he’d meant to say the moment he set eyes on Ryan. Definitely something he’d intended to build up to.

“I’m— huh?” Ryan looks confused, leaning against the counter (leaning _through_ it in parts).

“You’re— So I found out some stuff about you.”

Ryan goes still, almost like a digital image freezing.

“I’m not dead?”

“Nope,” Shane says, a promptly takes a long sip of his boiling hot coffee, wincing. “You’re in a coma.”

“Do you know where?” Ryan splutters, getting right up into Shane’s space. “You know where I am? How— how did you find out? We have to go right now.”

“Lotta problems with that,” Shane sighs and rubs his temples. God, his head hurts. “Not sure if they’ll let me in to see you, we have to have a familial connection I think. The woman on the phone last night only told me about you because— ah fuck.”

“Because?” Ryan prompts, and Shane smiles sheepishly, lips pressed tight together.

“I uh, maybe told her we dated. And you ghosted me.”

“I ghosted y— _Shane_.”

“I have no excuse except that half-empty bottle of wine over there,” Shane shrugs, “And y’know, the fact that you’re an attractive guy.”

“Thank you. Not the point,” Ryan scowls. “We need to go to the hospital.”

“Can you even leave the building?” Shane asks, “The farthest we’ve gone is downstairs.”

Ryan shrugs a shoulder. “I think I go where you go, Shane. You’re the only one who sees me. Mari from downstairs didn’t see me when I was right in front of her, which sucks because she’s mad hot.”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees idly, and tries to ignore the way his neck burns. “I mean we can try? But what are you gonna do if you can’t leave?”

Ryan looks contemplative. In the morning light coming through Shane’s kitchen window, he can almost see through him, almost see the shape of the cabinets behind him, the wine bottle on the counter. And yet, he still looks so stubbornly solid. Almost like Shane could touch him.

“I think I can go if you’re with me. Not sure I exist without you right now,” Ryan says, quietly, and Shane ignore the pang in his stomach, as he is wont to do. “Shane, please. I need this.”

The coffee is still scalding. Shane drinks it anyway.

“Let me get dressed,” he says, and Ryan beams at him as bright as the sun on his face.

.

Shane brings the mug with him to the hospital. In the Lyft, he doesn’t _see_ Ryan, but it’s kind of like he can feel his energy, fizzling excitedly around Shane. 

Shane doesn’t have much of a plan. Show up. Ask to see Ryan. Look the part of the forlorn lover. Hope nobody asks too many questions.

He makes it as far as reception without too much trouble, until he finds a woman with a familiar voice, and she looks up at him — definitely giving him a once over — before fixing a smile on her lips. Her blunt blonde bob sits neatly against her jaw.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asks, bright but looking tired.

“Uh,” Shane clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m Shane, I think we spoke on the phone? I’m here to see Ryan.”

“Oh shoot,” She says, eyes wide, “Alright, I’m about to get off my shift, I’ll go up with you. I’m Kelsey.”

“I remember,” Shane says, thankfully. “I’ll take a seat and wait?”

“I’ll be like 10 minutes,” Kelsey promises, and Shane finds an empty seat. Ryan sits down next to him, seemingly out of nowhere, and Shane breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he says, quietly.

“Wouldn’t miss it on my life,” Ryan replies, practically shimmering with nervous energy. 

They wait together in silence, watching people filter in and out of the waiting area, and Shane can’t quite shake the pit in his stomach, the feeling that something in his life is about to change once again.

Kelsey appears again after the longest fifteen minutes of Shane’s life, and smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that, got caught up in a call. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Shane smiles, and rises to his feet as Ryan stands next to him, wringing his hands nervously.

“I feel weird,” he says quietly, and Shane doesn’t answer, just glances over his shoulder and follows Kelsey towards the elevators. 

“So how’d you know Ryan?” Shane finds himself asking. “You said he volunteered here?”

“Yeah,” Kelsey says, and there’s a pleasant grit to her voice that puts Shane at ease. Ryan stands opposite them, watching curiously, interested to learn more about himself. “We actually went to college together. Not crazy close back then, but really good friends. His brother Jake works here in orthopedics, and Ryan’s always loved kids. He started volunteering in his spare time a couple of years ago, and everyone here got to know and love him.”

“He seems like a great guy,” Shane says, softly, to Ryan’s visible surprise. “Wish I’d gotten to know him a little bit better before all this.”

Kelsey nods in agreement, but doesn’t say much else until they get up to the third floor, visibly sad all of a sudden.

It’s quieter on the third floor, “Long term patients,” Kelsey explains quietly, “Ryan’s room is down here.”

She takes him to the end of the corridor and shows him a closed door.

“Five minutes. No weird stuff or I swear to god I’ll call security on your ass.”

“Cross my heart,” Shane says, and Kelsey holds his gaze for a moment, eyes hard, and then opens the door for him.

Shane steps in.

Ryan is already standing in the room at the end of his bed, watching himself.

Shane isn’t ready, no matter all the mental preparation he’d tried to do, for the way his heart stills the moment he sees Ryan in his hospital bed. The door clicks closed again behind him, Kelsey waiting outside it.

After what feels like an age, Shane exhales, and finds his footing to move forward.

It’s Ryan in the bed, for sure. Paler than his spectral self, thinner after two months in a hospital bed. No ventilator, Shane notes, just a heart monitor, various wires and tubes that Shane can’t track.

Ryan, or his spirit, his manifestation, the thing that Shane can’t explain, stands at the end of the bed and looks down at himself, brow furrowed.

“So you’re really alive,” Shane says, and Ryan looks up at him, stricken.

“Barely,” he whispers. “That’s— That doesn’t even look like me.”

“Your body’s been through a lot,” Shane murmurs, and Ryan seems to swear under his breath, turning away.

For a lack of anything else to do, Shane takes the mug out of the pocket of his jacket, gently setting it on the side table next to the bed. There are picture frames littered over the room, pictures of Ryan and friends, and family. Ryan and someone who must be his brother, dressed in medical scrubs. Ryan and the rest of his family members who all look like him, Ryan and college friends, a group picture of Ryan and Kelsey and others, and someone who looks suspiciously like—

“Kate,” Shane says, softly and turns the frame towards him a little more. Definitely Kate, with Kelsey and Ryan at some kind of party, looking maybe five years younger than they do now. Kelsey’s hair is long a blonde, Ryan’s hair immaculately tamed into some kind of coiffed look, his face clean-shaven.

“Huh?” Ryan asks him, and Shane points to the picture.

“That’s my friend, Kate,” Shane explains. “She’s engaged to— we used to live together. Before I moved into your place.”

Ryan squints at the picture. “I don’t know her. I barely know Kelsey and she’s obviously been around a while.”

Ryan sounds upset, though he’s obviously trying to get a hold on it.

“You okay?” Shane asks, and Ryan shakes his head vehemently.

“No. I feel like— I feel like I’ve got shitty cell service and I’m only picking up every third or fourth word. I don’t know why this is happening. I’m separated from my body, from my _life_ , and I have no fucking idea why.”

At a loss for words, Shane simply says “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

Ryan doesn’t answer, just simply sits beside the bed, trying and failing to touch his own hand.

“I don’t think I can come back to the apartment,” he says. “I think I need to stay here.”

“Okay,” Shane says, though he feels anything but. “If you’re sure, Ryan.”

There’s a gentle knock on the door, and Kelsey pokes her head in.

“Sorry Shane, you need to wrap it up.”

“Alright,” Shane says, standing next to the bed. “Just give me a sec?”

Kelsey doesn’t fully close the door, but pulls back to give the illusion of privacy. But she definitely sees Shane as he curls his hand around Ryan’s hand, limp but warm on the bedsheets. Ryan, sitting next to the bed, looks up at him wide-eyed, in shock, almost as though he could feel it. Shane can hardly look at him.

“Thanks, Ryan,” he says, “Wish I’d gotten to know you just a little bit better.”

And then to top it all off, he bends down to kiss Ryan’s forehead, gently sweeping aside a lock of messy hair as he does so.

All hell breaks loose.

The heart monitor starts going wild, and Kelsey throws the door open, aghast.

“What the hell did you do?” she yells.

“I didn’t do anything,” Shane splutters in shock, taking a step back. Ryan — spectral Ryan — is nowhere to be seen, and Shane lets Kelsey tug him out of the room and sit him down in the hallway.

“You stay there and _do not move_ ,” She scolds, and then dives behind the desk at the nearest nurses station, picking up the phone and dialing frantically.

Shane watches, numb and astonished, as doctors and nurses flood into the room, no-one yelling the way they do on TV or in the movies, but muttering frantically to one another. They all walk past Shane as though he isn’t even there. He’s not their main concern right now.

His hand tingles, still feeling the barest squeeze of Ryan’s hand around his, moments before he’d been ripped away.

.

He doesn’t know how much later it is when Ryan’s family arrives, instantly recognizable from their photos. Jake, his brother, appears first, apparently having already been on his way in for the day shift. His mother and father arrive next; Shane knows Linda’s name of course, but not much else about the family. They barely spare him a glance as a doctor greets them in the hallway, and quietly leads them into a side room. Shane’s stomach sinks.

Kelsey, confused and wary and obviously tired after her long shift, remains out of concern for her old friend and occasionally shoots Shane glances that are somehow both glaring and apologetic.

They wait, but Shane can’t bring himself to look at the clock, can’t put a timeline on his own breakdown.

The Bergaras exit the side room again, looking somewhat shook. Linda is pale, and her eyes catch on Shane for a moment as she passes, confused by his presence, but she says nothing as they wait outside the door of Ryan’s room.

The Doctor from before appears again, smiling tiredly.

“He wants to see you,” he says, to the family, and the knot in Shane’s stomach suddenly tightens and then releases.

“He’s alive?” Shane croaks, and five sets of eyes turn to stare at him. The doctor, the Bergaras, and Kelsey all watching him like a hawk.

“I’m sorry— who—”

“Mom,” Jake interrupts. “Ryan’s _awake_.”

Not much more needs to be said, apparently.

The Bergaras file quietly into the hospital room, and when they close the door, Shane stands up to leave. 

He’s not sure he belongs here right now. 

If Ryan wants to find him, he knows where Shane is.

.

Shane spends the next three weeks alone for the first time in a long time.

For the first while, he expects to be asked to move out, but no one comes knocking, or calls, or even sends a letter.

He picks up a new project to work on, character design for some educational series, and keeps busy so that he doesn’t spend all his time thinking about Ryan.

He still spends all his time thinking about Ryan. Wondering how he is. Thinking about adding him on Facebook, or even just trying to contact the hospital. He’s not sure Kelsey would let him through the front door.

Shane throws himself into his work, pays his rent on time, and misses the shadows he used to see from the corner of his eye.

.

Sara and Kate come by to check up on him, which is nice, but they talk a lot about the upcoming wedding, which— it’s still nice, but for some reason it makes Shane feel _empty_. He’s never been more happy for his friends and sorry for himself simultaneously.

It’s only later in the evening, after dinner when he’s a little more settled, that he can stomach asking Kate the question that’s been on his mind.

“You know a guy named Ryan Bergara?” he asks, and just saying Ryan’s name aloud makes him feel crazy. Like he’s made the last month up in his head.

Sara and Kate exchange a glance and Kate furrows her brow. She takes a sip from her glass of wine. Shane sips from his water.

“Yeah, actually,” she says. “We went to college together. You know him?”

“Kinda,” Shane says, running his finger over the edge of his glass. “I just thought the name might be familiar to you?”

“Well we _did_ try to set you up,” Sara interjects, and Kate glares over at her, making a cutting motion with her hands. Shane blinks several times in confusion, just trying to process that information.

“You what?”

“Remember like, months ago when we tried to set you up with a guy? K, wasn’t it your friend—”

“Sara,” Kate says, looking embarrassed, “That’s— I’m sure Shane still feels bad about it, we don’t need to bring it up.”

“The guy you set me up with?” Shane croaks, in total disbelief. “The guy I stood up, that was Ryan Bergara?”

“Yeah! We thought you guys would be cute together, but I guess it wasn’t supposed to be,” Sara says, a little sadly. “Hey, didn’t he live nearby here?”

Shane chokes on his water, and the two women finally turn to look at him, _really_ look at him as he coughs up a lung, setting his glass down on the table.

“You’re white as a sheet, Shane,” Kate says, frowning as she leans forward, “You okay?”

“I don’t really feel great,” Shane says when he catches his breath. “Think I’m gonna go get some sleep?”

“You want us to go?” Sara asks, unfolding her legs from the sofa, reaching out for him. Shane’s not sure he can bear to be touched right now. He thinks maybe the last person he touched was Ryan, and he still feels that tiny squeeze around the tips of his fingers.

“No, no,” Shane shakes his head. “You guys finish your drinks. Take the spare room.”

“If you’re sure,” Sara says, and Kate watches warily from over her shoulder.

“It’ll be like old times,” Shane shrugs, and the dips out before he can even see their reactions. Funnily enough, with the sound of their murmuring in the next room, he has the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

.

And then, for the third time in a matter of months, Shane’s life changes in a way he could never predict.

But maybe it’s all been one big change, drawn out to torture him, or to make him a stronger person.

Maybe it’s all bullshit.

.

Ryan knocks on his door, holding a blue mug in his hand, looking pale and drawn and tired.

“Hi,” he says, when Shane opens the door.

“ _Hi_ , what are you doin’ here,” Shane replies, maybe a little too familiar, because Ryan instantly becomes more confused, looking like he wants to take a step back, looking like he wants to run. Shane hunches his shoulders and pulls back so that Ryan doesn’t have to. 

“I’m uh— I’m Ryan. I used to live here,” Ryan begins, and there’s a sinking feeling in Shane’s gut. He’d expected this.

In the first week, when Ryan hadn’t made contact, or none of his family had, Shane had deduced that it was likely Ryan wouldn’t remember him. When the weeks began to pass with not even a word of news, Shane had accepted it as fact.

Now, Ryan looks up at him, and there’s no recognition in his eyes, no fondness or annoyance. Just curiosity.

He holds up the mug.

“Kelsey told me you brought this,” Ryan says, a little unsure, “She said— she said a lot of stuff and I never know what to believe with her. But I just gotta know why. How did you even know?”

Shane shrugs. There’s no sane way he can explain this to Ryan, and no solution where he doesn’t end up looking like an asshole.

Might as well lean into it.

“I don’t really have an explanation for you,” he shrugs. “Not one you’d believe.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryan says, and turns the mug over in his hands.

“I don’t have time for this,” Shane says, somehow managing dickish and apologetic in the same tone. He steps back to close his door, because at this point he’s well used to closing the door on an opportunity.

Ryan shoves his foot in the jamb and slams his palm against the door, pushing it back open with surprising strength for a guy who had been unconscious for two months, who is certainly going through all kinds of physical and psychological therapy.

“Bullshit,” Ryan snaps, and something in Shane’s chest flutters, recognizing that spark of fire, and bratty belligerence. “I _know_ you— Tell me why I know you.”

Shane sighs heavily, rubbing his nose. He’s going to regret this for sure.

“I stood you up. Remember? I’m sure a guy like you doesn’t get stood up often.”

For a moment Ryan looks as though he doesn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.

“That doesn’t explain— You’re a real dick, you know that?”

Shane shrugs. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

And Ryan looks incandescently angry for a split second, right before his eyes widen in realization. Recognition comes flooding in.

He spins on his heel, looking at the fire hydrant where the spare key is still dutifully hidden away, slowly turning back to Shane.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been here before?” He asks.

“You used to live here,” Shane points out, and Ryan scowls at him, so familiar, so handsome.

“You’re not telling me something,” Ryan says, pointing his finger up at Shane. “Otherwise you’d have shut the door on me already, called me crazy, called the cops.”

And that’s the thing about Ryan. He doesn’t give up. He certainly doesn’t let go.

Shane rubs his face with his hands.

He’s never been one to believe in fate, but at this point, he feels like it’s a little ridiculous to deny what’s being handed to him. He’s not sure he deserves it.

But he’s going to take it.

“You’ll never believe me. Not in a million years.”

Ryan’s eyes are hard, dark and glittering, his mouth set into a firm line.

“Try me,” he says.

Shane can hardly say no to a challenge.


End file.
